The Case for Faith
by writer writing
Summary: Sherlock's latest and seemingly simple case requires him to reevaluate everything he knows to be true. And Baby Watson makes her first appearance.
1. Chapter 1

Even though the vicar wore a raincoat that covered his white collar, Sherlock could tell his profession right away. It was the proper way he held himself with his hands clutched together like he was in the middle of a ceremony, the faint scent of incense, and perhaps most telling of all was the cross necklace making its shape known through the coat.

It was a pity. Their cases were generally about weeping statues or stolen church funds. And the ones who were looking for him to find the mystery behind the miracle weren't really looking for him to disprove it. They wanted him to say he couldn't prove it and they wouldn't believe him when he gave them a simple scientific explanation. And the ones with stolen funds were often as simple as who handled the money. It was just they couldn't believe Brother Bob or Sister Sally could ever do such a thing. In other words, the cases they brought were utterly boring and not worth his time.

"Sit down, Vicar," he said. gesturing to the chair before taking a seat himself.

The man started to ask him how he knew that but then seemed to remember who he was talking to. He took his raincoat off and folded it in his lap to keep the chair from getting wet. "My church is haunted."

He was slightly amused. "By a ghost? I didn't know ministers believed in phantoms or I was at least under the impression it was unorthodox for them to do so."

"By an angel then or it's an elaborate joke. But many of the parishioners have seen the man. I didn't know what to think until I saw him yesterday. It's starting to spook people out and I'm losing my congregation. I need it solved. The police won't take it seriously. You're my only hope."

It could prove to be a fascinating case or it could prove to be dreadfully dull, but the vicar had one thing going for him: since he'd so neatly wrapped up the Moriarty case and received a pardon, it had been weeks since he'd had a case. "And the church?"

"St. Luke's."

"Ah." Church of England. Catholic enough to believe in the supernatural and Protestant enough to be unsettled by it. "I won't have any answers until I've seen the church."

He was debating on whether to ask John to meet him at the church when the man himself called.

"Perfect timing, John. I-"

"Mary's gone into labor," he interrupted.

"She chose a fine time. There's finally a new case. One you'd probably be interested in." John was more open to the supernatural, praying and whatnot. He would probably enjoy it. Not that Sherlock thought for a moment it would turn out to be anything but a homeless person living there in secret or a case of mass hysteria born from some urban myth.

"Obviously I'm not interested in it at the moment, and I'm not sure a woman exactly chooses when she goes into labor. Are you coming to the hospital?"

"Yes, of course. But I must go by a church first."

"Feeling of a religious bent?" he teased. "There's a chapel at the hospital."

"It has to do with the case."

"Of course, it has." He oddly enough sounded a little sad about it though he had likely known it already. "I'll text you with the dilations to let you know how much time you have to get here."

"I rather wish you wouldn't." But the excited father had already hung up most likely because of the moaning Mary had been making in the background. It was funny really. Sherlock had seen some of the most gruesome murders in England and the thought of a baby making its way into the world made him a tad squeamish.

Suddenly he was more thrilled with this case than ever if it allowed him to arrive just after Baby Watson made her rather messy entrance. "You, Vicar, are an answer to a prayer I didn't know I'd prayed."


	2. Chapter 2

There was something about the inside of a church that unsettled Sherlock, but the thing that drove him craziest about this unease was that there was no logic behind it. Religion was created by men to explain the things they couldn't explain and to feel better about death. It was lazy and though he appreciated the moral foundation it could give a person, it was basically useless. So there was no reason in the world this place should unsettle him, but it did.

The vicar took him straight to the sanctuary. "This is where he's been spotted. Twice by the cleaning lady, six times by members of the congregation, and once by me."

He studied the sanctuary. There were 3 large stained-glass windows and none of them were movable. Definitely couldn't have gotten in that way.

"There's only 2 doors. One in the front and one in the back," the vicar said.

He restrained the urge to roll his eyes. Like he'd needed him to state the obvious.

One of the walls had a larger-than-life painting of Jesus on the cross. The artist hadn't failed to leave out the gory details. It stood opposite of another painting of Jesus risen from the tomb.

People called him strange, but at least he didn't glorify a man's death. Treated it unemotionally and conducted experiments on the bodies, yes, but never gloried in it. A peculiar thought came to him just then. Had Jesus faked his own death too? It would explain the countless witnesses, many who went to violent deaths rather than deny Him. But how did one convince Roman soldiers you were dead, especially when they pierced your side and brought out blood and water, a clear sign of death. It was a mystery he would've liked to have solved if he'd lived in Bible times.

It really was a grand story as far as fairy tales went. Sherlock was very familiar with it because his maternal grandmother had often taken him and Mycroft to church. He and Mycroft had found great amusement in trying to explain the mysteries behind the miracles as children. Here was a hero as the Bible told it. A god who lowered himself to become one of His creation. In fact, in this instance, caring mattered because caring was what had saved the entire human race, if they chose to believe that is. He didn't because as nice as it was, it made no sense. Why should God, if such a being existed, send His Son to die for such thankless and imperfect people that would not be in rebellion if their supposed predecessors, Adam and Eve, had listened in the first place? And that was just the beginning of the things in the Bible he couldn't comprehend.

No, Irene was right. The only higher power he believed in was himself. Ignoring the pictures, he began knocking on the walls.

"What are you doing?" the vicar asked.

"Shh. Wasting my time if you don't keep quiet." He hadn't even covered half the wall before he got the first text. "Annoying things, mobile phones. They have a habit of going off at the most inconvenient of times."

 _4 cm -JW_

He still had plenty of time. A woman wasn't ready to go until she reached 10 cm. He knew that because he'd once had to deliver a suspect's baby. Worst case of his life.

He continued to knock around and check for hollow sounds until he was 100 percent sure the doors were the only way in and out.

He started to ask the vicar where the "spirit" had been standing, but he received another text.

 _5 cm -JW_

 _Is it necessary to text me after every cm? -SH_

 _Yes -JW_

She was moving along fast, but then they couldn't be sure this was Mary's first child. It could be her third or fourth for all they knew.

"Where did you see him?" Sherlock asked.

"The choir loft." That made perfect sense. That was where the door in the back was, the choir loft. The ghost was becoming less ghostly by the minute.

"Was it a shadow or did you see the figure clearly?"

"As clearly as I see you now. And just as the others described him. Victorian clothing and eyes that didn't seem to be able to focus on anything or anyone."

"Did you ask him what he was doing there?"

"It didn't occur to me just then," he said, flushing. "I started to run the other way. When it occurred to me that he might be a real person, I turned to talk to him, but he was gone."

"Could he have gone through the door?" he said, asking the obvious.

"No, I would've heard the door squeak. The hinges are terribly old."

Just then the figure was there in the choir loft, and Sherlock ran towards the resident ghost. Not as exciting as he'd hoped for, but John and Mary would be happy about the timely conclusion. At least, this phantom had proved to be more than a figment of the imagination.

However no sooner had he vaulted into the choir loft than the figure was gone again though Sherlock had never taken his eyes off of him.


	3. Chapter 3

"Did you see the angel?" the vicar asked, breathless.

"Yes, of course I saw it," Sherlock snapped back. "Did you not see me running madly towards it?"

He went through the door connected to the choir loft though he knew it had remained firmly shut and almost bumped straight into a woman.

Facts jumped out as they always did when he studied the appearance of a new person. She had son in college who never called, avid watcher of soaps, fond of chocolate and wine, and clearly the cleaning lady. "Are you the one who's seen the resident angel?" he asked though he knew she was.

"I am. Most think it's a ghost though and speaking as a witness, I'm inclined to agree. In fact, I know exactly who it is."

She was being singularly unhelpful with her supernatural beliefs, but he had to ask. "Who?"

"Sir William Fields, the founder of this church," she said raising her head slightly, daring him to disagree.

"He lived during the Victorian era, I presume."

"Yes, you've seen him too then?"

"I've seen a likeness of him. Yes."

"He vowed to always watch over this building and the people in it when he was alive. Church attendance here has been down in recent years, but these sightings have started to turn things around."

"Has it?" There was a motive. Nothing like a bit of excitement to add to the offering plates. And who would need full offering plates more than the vicar? The man had just jumped to the top of his suspect list.

"It has and strange things have happened on the days he's been seen to the people who've seen him."

The woman was forcing him to pull more information from her, enjoying being a source of church lore. "Like?"

"One of the women who saw him was cleared of cancer, the church treasurer saw him and then found money to pay St. Luke's heating bill, a man who'd been losing faith found it again."

"And you? The vicar said you've seen it twice. What's happened for you?"

"My rent was paid the first time around. The second time, my son had his textbooks for college bought for him."

He humphed. What kind of ghost went around doling out cash? It was a nice story as far as ghost stories went. A helpful ghost rather than a vengeful ghost. Sherlock found himself almost wishing that he could believe it. He saw the evil of men day in and day out until it seemed like there was little good in the world. It would be pleasant to think there was such a thing as a friendly spirit, whether you wanted to label it as a ghost or an angel.

It would be even more comforting to think there was a being who wanted to be addressed as Father, who wanted to be involved in a personal way to each and every person even if that person was a high-functioning sociopath. A being who brought meaning to all the madness and chaos and who ensured there would be justice even when the guilty escaped earthly punishment, yet was merciful and good to the repentant soul.

But all that required more faith than Sherlock had. The conclusions he came to in life were brought about by hard, cold facts. And speaking of hard, cold facts.

 _6 cm -JW_

John's baby was certainly in a hurry. She was challenging him to move very fast indeed.

He looked up at the cleaning lady again after tucking his phone away. "You've been most helpful."

He went back into the sanctuary to query about these so-called, accompanying miracles. Something the vicar hadn't informed him of. That was another good reason to suspect him, but then again where was he getting all the money if attendance had been down?

"Your cleaning lady tells me people have good things happen to them when they've seen this angel of yours and she tells me attendance has actually gone up. You said it had gone down. Why then do you want rid of your uninvited guest?"

"Visitors and tourists looking for a thrill, yes. Core members I can spiritually guide and who regularly tithe, no."

"I see. Has anything out of the ordinary happened for you?"

He grimaced, a sign of not wanting to talk about it, but then he sighed and said, "I was thinking of leaving the vicarage. I asked God to show me a sign if He didn't want me to pursue another career path and then I see Sir William and, well, it seems as good a sign as any. But all the same, Sir William has to go. I'm thinking of performing an exorcism."

"I don't believe that will be necessary."

"You have an explanation then?" he asked with an expectant look.

"Not as of yet, but there's always a logical explanation."

"Not always. Sometimes to find the answer you have to look up."

So he did look up and indeed that was exactly where the answer was.


	4. Chapter 4

"It's the projector," Sherlock said, pointing to the machine that hung from the ceiling. "Projectors can be used to make it seem like you're plagued with a ghostly figure. It's a popular Halloween gimmick. The question is who's running the projector."

The vicar was staring up at said machine as if it could give the answer. "I suppose one would have to look in the sound room to determine that."

 _7 cm - JW_

 _Tell Mary to get an epidural. It will slow things down. -SH_

 _I most certainly will not! She's squeezing my hand hard enough as it is. -JW_

Sherlock's lips twitched. He was almost sorry he was missing it. Almost. "You'd better wait here while I check the sound room. It doesn't sound as if the culprit's dangerous with his gifts of money, but one never knows."

Not being dangerous was an overstatement. He'd thought it a long shot that whoever was back there was still back there. Obviously though, all these times without being caught had made him overconfident or he just didn't care if he was.

The smile the old man gave him made it apparent that it was the former. "Sherlock Holmes? I've seen your picture in the paper. They called in the big guns, did they?" Wealthy but no longer cared to show off his wealth. An executive before he retired and in the military before that. Fond of Cuban cigars. Liked to play with his grandchildren. An attendee of this church.

"Care to explain why you wanted to haunt the church?"

Again he smiled. "It's easier to accept gifts from a ghost than a man. I want to help people too proud to be helped. The lady who was cleared of her cancer, that was just luck. It also makes me sad to see all the empty pews. When I was a boy and Easter or Christmas came around, there were so many people in attendance, they spilled out into the aisles and had to stand in the back. If this makes people consider the spiritual again, well, isn't it worth it?"

"At the cost of deception, lies? You should talk with the vicar. You should set everyone straight."

"Perhaps you're right. You don't believe in God, do you? Or an afterlife?"

"No, I do not. You must think I like saying that, believing that. I don't. I simply can't ignore the facts. But I don't begrudge people such as yourself who do." He started to leave on that note.

"If that's the only thing holding you back, I can give you facts. Historical facts outside the Bible that prove Jesus Christ was real."

 _8 cm! ! ! -JW_

Sherlock made a reasonable deduction from the exclamation marks that John was beginning to get a bit anxious. But he wanted to hear more of what this man had to say, and it wasn't just a stall tactic this time. He exuded peace and hope, confidence, though it was plain by the gauntness, tiredness, and the shortness of breath that he was in the last stages of lung cancer. "Only a fool would deny His existence. It's His claims I doubt."

"It's not just _His_ claims you doubt. It's His apostles you doubt as well. Men who were eyewitnesses to Jesus. Men who died painful deaths rather than deny He was risen. For gain a man might lie, but they gained no earthly rewards. Only one died of old age. And there were many more witnesses, hundreds in fact. No conspiracy of that size could last very long. It would have been stamped out in their day and many certainly tried, the priests, Saul who became Paul after seeing Christ himself. If you were working a case, Mr. Holmes, would you doubt so many eyewitnesses? I daresay many cases wouldn't be solved if that were so."

He was right. "I like your argument." He'd said the resurrection of Christ was a case he'd have liked to have solved and in some strange way it seemed he was getting that chance now in 2016 in this small room filled with electronic equipment. "But how can you throw away what science tells us?"

"Skeptics say the ideas are as ancient as the texts, but let me tell you a small portion of what I know. The Bible says the earth was round when others of the day thought it was flat. The Bible calls the blood the source of the flesh's life in a time when blood letting was a popular treatment. When the Bible called the stars innumerable, the ancients thought you could assign them a number. And there are many more such facts written down by uneducated men in days when knowledge was limited. My belief is it is science catching up with the Bible rather than the other way around."

"What about the miracles? The impossible happened from the splitting of the Red Sea to the sun standing still."

"It's impossible for the Creator to change the natural laws He set into place? He made everything out of nothing and that's what you call impossible?"

He made it sound so logical. "What about evolution? You can't explain that away."

"Science that tries to prove evolution is faulty. There is not one fossil ever found that shows transitioning. Not one. The fact of the matter is science can neither prove nor disprove God. You can't put God into a lab. You can't turn back the clock and watch the beginning of life unfold. You can only piece together the facts and see what you come up with and that takes looking at both sides to weed out any bias."

"You're not telling me what I should believe?" He thought that's what religious people excelled at.

"There's only way you'll ever be convinced and that's if you study it for yourself. Take on the greatest case of not only your career but the greatest case in human history. When Christ asked Peter, "Who do people say I am?", He really only cared at that moment who Peter said He was. Now it's your turn to answer the age-old question."

"And if I study and say that He was only a good teacher who died too young?"

He shrugged. "I can't believe for you. It's between you and God in the end. But so many don't seek the truth. They say they want the answers, but they don't even look. And I'm not sure all the evidence in the world would convince them if their mind is set against Him. But I believe whether you choose only science or Christianity, both take a leap of faith in the beginning. The only difference is whether there's going to be solid ground when you land. I've found solid ground. Proof in my heart, proof in my soul, proof in the world. God has made Himself known to me. I firmly believe there is a yearning inside every man that only God can fill."

Was that why he wanted to believe so much? But what if he couldn't? What if his analytical mind wouldn't let him?

He sensed his doubt and continued. "Observe the world. Really observe. God has promised that He makes Himself evident so that all are without excuse. Search with an open mind and heart and you will find. I promise you that."

He didn't know what to say. What could he say? Had he and Mycroft been wrong? Perhaps the greatest minds in England. Maybe the world?

 _9 cm! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! -JW_

 _! ! ! ! ! ! ! !-JW_

John had gone from anxious to a full-blown panic attack like any good father would.

"It's time for me to go. I will think on all you've said." He left him where he found him though there was more he could have asked.

He was deep in thought as he walked to find the vicar. This elderly man, who seemed to know so much that Sherlock didn't, had been beaming ghosts around the church. Why should he take what he said so seriously, but he did. He'd given him a lot to think on.

It occurred to him he'd never even asked the man his name but a quick description to the vicar let him know who it was and the vicar was inclined to let the matter drop though he did plan to discuss with him a better way to share his money.

"You really must be paid for your help," the vicar said as he walked Sherlock out. "How much do you normally charge?"

"Well, my friend's having a baby," he said, looking at the vicar's garden, which was just beginning to spring to life. "I'd like to be able to take some of those flowers to him. Or to his wife rather."

The vicar eyed him a few moments before smiling. "Mr. Holmes, for one devoid of faith, you have more Christian charity than many Christians I know. Take as many as you want. Take them all if you wish."

"How did you know I was devoid of faith?" he asked suspiciously though he imagined he already knew the answer.

"Mrs. Hudson told me when she let me in."

"Of course she did." He didn't know whether to be amused or put out with the woman.


	5. Chapter 5

"Must you let in every man of the cloth that darkens the doorway?" Sherlock asked upon seeing Mrs. Hudson in the waiting room.

"It would offend the Almighty if I turned one of His workers away. Why did he say something to trouble you, dear?" She was the picture of innocence, but he could tell she was rather hoping he had.

He wanted to spit out what business did a former exotic dancer, who took "herbal soothers" as she liked to call it, have being spiritually minded because he was annoyed. Annoyed that he might've been wrong to dismiss religion all these years. He hated being wrong. But he would never be willfully cruel to Mrs. Hudson. "No. Has Mary had the baby yet?"

"No, I've just been admiring all the newborns. My, but it'll be fun having a baby around."

He didn't see what would be fun about having a howling, needy little person attatched to your side. "If you like that sort of thing."

She smiled knowingly. "You say that now but just wait until you see the little darling."

He sat in a chair, leaving Mrs. Hudson to continue to coo at babies. He probably should have asked one of the nurses to take him to the birthing room, but he'd texted John that he'd arrived. Knowing that he was in the hospital had likely calmed him down.

He took in the scented blooms. It smelled and looked divine and that set him to thinking.

How illogical was it to think the world could be ruled by chance? He'd never seen a car or watch or any man-made thing and wondered whether or not it had a creator. And how much less complex were they than the human body or even these flowers. Where there was design, there was a creator.

It seemed so glaringly plain to him at the moment. It was the easiest deduction to make and he'd missed it until now. And if he could no longer deny there was a God, what did that mean for him? For Sherlock Holmes?

It meant he would one stand before a judge like so many of the criminals he'd helped to capture, but not just a judge, the Judge. And he was guilty. Guilty of pride, violence, and many other sins. He needed someone to plead his case. And the only one who could was Jesus Christ; he remembered that from his grandmother's church. So then and there he threw himself on the mercy of the court and asked for forgiveness and for Jesus.

He had more questions he wanted to ask, but he believed they would be answered in time and not that they couldn't be answered. He was taking that leap of faith. And he landed on solid ground. He could feel it in his soul as soon as he'd asked.

His words came back to him from earlier about receiving an answer to a prayer he didn't know he'd prayed. God had revealed Himself without his asking Him to. And that was a mystery in and of itself.

A nurse chose that moment to make an appearance. "Your friend sent me to find you. Mrs. Watson is allowed another person in the delivery room and you are that second person."

John knew him too well. He obediently followed her to the room, knowing he could put it off no longer.

Fortunately, all he found were two proud parents with their baby. No screaming women or pools of blood. Born only 5-10 minutes ago he surmised from a couple quick deductions.

"I brought flowers," he said as if that explained his absence totally.

"That's very thoughtful. They're lovely," Mary said.

The nurse took the bouquet to find a place in the room for them.

"What did you decide to name her?" Sherlock wanted to know, taking a step closer.

"We're still thinking of a name," Mary admitted.

"I have a name for your consideration," Sherlock began.

"For the last time, we're not naming our baby Sherlock," John said though he was grinning as he said so.

"I was thinking of Faith."

"Faith Watson," Mary said. "You know what? I like it."

John was eying him funnily now. "I like it too, but it's not a name I thought you'd ever suggest."

"I believe in things that I can't see or haven't seen. It's called reasoning."

"Faith Sherlock Watson," Mary said. "It's got a nice ring, don't you think?"

John surprisingly agreed. "It does at that. Would you like to hold your namesake?"

Sherlock wasn't sure he would. The only thing that made him more nervous than a woman in labor was a baby. But he held his arms out anyway as John transferred Faith from Mary to him.

Faith lifted a fist into the air but didn't seem distressed in the change of persons. She kept her eyes screwed shut and wore the sweetest expression. It was actually rather nice.

"Would you believe this is the first baby I've ever held?" he asked. Unless one counted the quick pass-off when he'd helped that woman deliver her child.

The laughing smiles they sent him proved they hadn't been surprised at all.

A tender feeling of protection and love welled up in him for the babe in his arms. His list of people he cared about had just gone up one. He would die for this baby that looked so much like John. And everything seemed to make sense in that moment like it never had before.

Love was why the Father had sent the Son to die in the face of all reason. It was why they were all here in the first place. It was why God had made Himself known to him without his asking in just a way he could grasp. And nothing made sense apart from it because love came from God. God was love.

This little baby in his arms might have been the greatest case for faith of all.

The End

 _There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion. It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers, our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its color are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from flowers._

 _-Sherlock Holmes_


End file.
